


Misericordia

by ThatGumYouLike



Category: Marvel
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatGumYouLike/pseuds/ThatGumYouLike
Summary: “Wonderful, Steve. Great plan.”“We had to try.”“Yeah, well, it’s my turn now. Peter, there’s only one way out of this and it isn’t going to be easy. She’s going to offer you who knows how many happily ever afters, and you’re going to have to deny every one of them. Violently.”





	1. I. The Little Glass Stiletto

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pet project of mine so updates will be sporadic. Basically, I love fairy tales, so each chapter will be a new retelling. I don't really have a specific order in mind, so let me know what your favourites are (here or hmu @ my tumblr, unnecessarysemicolon) and I'll see what I can do.

_Peter. Wake up._

“Mmrgf. Just one more minute…”

_You have to wake up. This is a dream._

“You mean… I’m waking up into a… dream?”

_You’re waking up into a maze. Find your way out._

Peter sat up blearily at that, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he looked around the room. At first glance, it was unfamiliar; a cramped, tidy little area with a small fireplace and not much else. The bed he was on was little more than a heap of straw, and the only possession of his that he could see was a neat little pile of wool clothes in one corner. Other than that, there wasn’t even a candle to light up the place. Just a window filtering weak sunlight onto the stone floor, where a mouse sat on its hindquarters, nose twitching as it cocked its head at him.

“Are you the one who spoke?” Peter whispered, slipping the threadbare blanket covering him off as he crawled out of the straw to stare at the mouse. It tilted its head to the other side and Peter held his breath, waiting to see if it would speak again. The voice had sounded familiar, but the familiarity was slipping away, as were the odd memories he had of some sort of fight. That was ridiculous; he’d never fought in his life. All he did was—

“Peter!” a voice shrieked as the thick oak door to his room burst open. The mouse dropped onto all fours and bolted as a broom came sweeping down at it, and Peter scrambled back with a wince.

“What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing? You were to be up hours ago! Mother is furious! And this mouse? Get your head out of the clouds!”

Right. It was his duty to be up long before the sun, preparing the house for any nobles who wanted to stop by to take a look at his stepsisters. His stepmother was always looking for his sisters to marry up, and she claimed no highborn would even give them a second glance if the place wasn’t scrupulous.

“Sorry, Bena,” he apologized as he grabbed the outfit from the floor and started stripping off his nightclothes. “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”

Benazir rolled her eyes, looking disgusted as she slammed the door behind her to give Peter some form of privacy. Whelp, looked like he wouldn’t have time to wash up today.

He dressed quickly, still tugging on the bands of his trousers’ suspenders when he threw open the door to find his stepmother tapping her foot impatiently. The second she saw him, her expression went from annoyed to a furious storm cloud. He sunk down into himself, hunching his shoulders as Benazir and Reeva looked distastefully down their noses from behind their mother.

“What is the meaning of this, boy? The shutters haven’t been opened, breakfast isn’t on the table, and there’s dust gathering in every corner of the house! Today is especially important, as you well know! Or did you sleep in particularly _because_ today is special, because you want to mess it up for your sisters?”

“Of course not!” Peter protested, wondering how he could’ve forgotten today. The biggest day of his life, really, because how many times did one get to go the ball where the prince and princess both sought a partner? Every man and woman, whether they were lowborn or highborn, had a chance. Even Peter might be able to catch the princess’s eye and get out of this hellhole. Hellhole? That was an odd word.

“Never mind all that, we don’t have time to argue. Get cleaning, and then help your sisters dress up for the ball.”

That said, Selene turned on her heel to leave, and it took every ounce of courage Peter had to call out again.

“Um… Ma’am? What about me? I still need to go into town to get an outfit and—”

“Well you should’ve thought of that _before_ you decided to sleep half of the day away, now shouldn’t you?” Selene snapped, and Peter could only nod. Ever since his father had died, every day had been a nerve wracking mess of wondering whether or not he’d be able to stay in his own home. Since the place had been left to Selene, she had free reign over who was able to stay under her roof. He should be thankful he had anywhere to stay at all.

“Yes, Ma’am. Sorry, Ma’am.”

Selene’s lips curled into a sneer as she shook her head.

“I can’t stop you from going to the ball, but I can forbid you from going to town until all of your chores are finished. You want to be dressed fit for a princess? This house must be spotless.”

Peter’s frame drooped as he thought of everything he had to do, dressing his sisters up on top of that. It usually took him the entire day just to get his usual chores done, and with the massive dresses he had to help the girls into, there was no way he’d be done in time to make it to town. This was his last chance at freedom, and it was all going to end because of his own stupidity.

His stepsisters snickered as he grabbed the pail to go fill it at the well, knowing full well the same thing he did. He wanted to snap at them but he couldn’t waste his energy, so instead he bolted for the well. Even if it was basically impossible to finish everything in the small amount of time he had, he may as well try. It was his last chance, after all.

He attached the bucket to a rope and began lowering it down, the rope burning his hands as he let it slide as quick as he dared. If he planned it all out and timed it, maybe…

“Shit,” he gasped as the speed of the rope sheared through the last fraying fibres and broke, sending it plunging towards the water. He lunged forward, managing to grab the end of it, but in the process tumbling over the side of the well. This was it. This was how he would die; alone in the bottom of the well because he was the only one who came out here and no one would ever know.

He let out one loud scream, just in case anyone was listening and might come to check it out, until he realized he wasn’t falling. He was hovering at the top of the well, both hands clutching the rope and both feet slowly being brought up to the side of well where he could find purchase.

“How the hell is he so heavy? He looks like he weighs ninety pounds soaking wet.”

“You’re underestimating how much muscles weigh, Tony.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“And there’s the fact that we’re, you know, _birds._ ”

Peter’s knees touched the side of the well and he used his weight to swing him back to solid ground, pulling the bucket up with him. Before looking around, he tugged the bucket up the rest of the way and set it beside him, drawing in a deep breath. Then he turned to find a tiny red cardinal and a bluebird perched on the ground beside him, both of them studying him the way the mouse had been earlier in the morning.

“Uh… hi?” he tried, not really expecting an answer. By this point, he had the feeling he was just making up voices in his head.

“Thank God, he can actually see and hear us,” the cardinal muttered, which was freaky because cardinals weren’t supposed to mutter; they were supposed to tweet.

“Peter! How are you feeling?” the bluebird asked, tilting its tiny head to one side as it fluttered up to perch on his knee. Peter blinked rapidly, unable to get a word out, and for a second he felt so dizzy he thought he’d pass out.

“This… this is a dream,” he stammered, looking between the birds. The cardinal rolled its eyes.

“Obviously it’s a dream. The problem is that it isn’t a natural dream. We were all in the process of fighting a sorceress and her little posse of bad guys when she hit you with some spell and took off. You’ve been in a coma ever since, and the only way we can talk to you is because Doctor Strange and Charles Xavier are doing some freaky mind voodoo.”

“We’re all worried,” the bluebird added, ruffling its wings. “Wade is losing his mind so we can’t send him in yet, and everyone else is pulling all-nighters trying to figure out how to stop this. As far as we can tell, you have to fight your way through whatever hoops she set up yourself. We can help you but… It’s up to you.”

“O…kay…” Peter got out, mind spinning from all the information. None of it made any sense whatsoever to him, not sorcery or spells or Wade. It all sounded like the product of an overactive imagination, something Selene would criticize him for. Nonetheless, since this was clearly all just some fever-crazed hallucination, he may as well play along.

“Who are you guys, anyway? Um, if birds have genders. I’m not really sure how that whole thing works.”

The two exchanged meaningful glances, though to Peter their beady black eyes were unfathomable.

“You don’t remember? That isn’t good. I’m Steve to you, known by others as Captain America. This is Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. We’re… well, we’re kind of your family. Me—Steve, Tony, Wade, Clint, Natasha, Bucky, Thor, and a bunch of others.”

The names brought up faces for a split second; a handsome blonde man ruffling his hair, a brunette in a red-and-gold suit rolling his eyes, a horribly scarred face laughing hysterically, a gentle man showing him how to shoot a bow, a fierce woman flipping him over one shoulder and grinning, a dark-haired soldier jokingly flexing a metal arm, a blue-eyed god encouraging him to lift a weightless hammer. In that moment, Peter fleetingly remembered everyone, and he bolted upright so quick the bluebird had to hop off his knee to avoid getting crushed.

Then a splitting headache smacked him right between the eyes and it was gone, replaced by a pounding that made him groan. He put his head between his knees, drawing in deep breaths as he waited for it to subside.

“Wonderful, Steve. Great plan.”

“We had to try.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my turn now. Peter, there’s only one way out of this and it isn’t going to be easy. She’s going to offer you who knows how many happily ever afters, and you’re going to have to deny every one of them. Violently.”

“I’m not really into violence,” Peter admitted as the headache finally subsided and he was able to look up. “I like things to be peaceful.”

“I’m going to pretend I never heard that,” Tony said, his chest puffing up as if offended. “Now, since we want you out of here ASAP, we’re going to help you get those ridiculous chores done. Or Steve is. I’ll supervise.”

“Tony—” Steve began.

“Someone needs to supervise. Do time management, all that wonderful stuff. Have you ever run a business? Didn’t think so,” Tony continued as Steve tried to get a word in. He fluffed up his feathers self-importantly. “So I’ll supervise, and when that’s finished you’re going to get yourself all dressed up and find yourself a princess. We’ll tell you what’s next when the time comes.”

Peter listened, half in a daze, and nodded as if the whole thing made perfect sense to him. Really, all he heard was princess and getting chores down, so he dragged himself up from the ground and proceeded to bring the bucket in to wash the floors.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a whirlwind of work, Tony barking out orders while Steve and Peter made the house spotless. Peter scrubbed at the floors while Steve flapped around with a cloth in his toes, dusting off the higher surfaces. They dragged the carpets out and Peter washed the walls down while Steve and Tony beat at the carpets with their wings. Peter helped his sisters dress, tugging corsets as tight as they go over underclothes, and Steve plinked utensils into the dishwater while Tony flicked soap on them with the tips of his wings. Changing beds, weeding the garden, chopping wood, taking the letters to the post… It all blurred together and by the time it was over, Peter was bone-tired.

He collapsed on the ugly red couch that was his stepmother’s pride, struggling to keep his eyes open as the women of the house ran around preparing themselves. Tony and Steve had to wait outside so the women wouldn’t see him, and since he had nothing else to do he curled up and decided to take a small nap.

It felt like his eyes were closed for a total of three seconds, but when he awoke to something pecking his shoulder and sat up, he realized it had been longer. Much longer. The sun was already beginning to set and the women had left.

“How long have I been out?” Peter yelped, furiously rubbing his eyes as Tony and Steve hopped onto the end of the couch to watch him.

“Few hours,” Steve said kindly, touching his wing to Peter’s foot in comfort. “Selene and the others didn’t want you to wake up and go to the ball, so now they think there’s no chance you can come.”

“They’re right,” Peter whispered hoarsely, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “There’s no way I can get to town with the amount of time I have left. There’s nothing I can do.”

Tears of frustration welled up as he drew in ragged breaths, imagining a life where all he did was clean up after his stepsisters for all of eternity. He would go crazy, he decided, if that was going to be the rest of his life. It was better to run away from all of this now while he still could then stay forever. But where would he go?

“Relax, kid. Your fairy godfathers took care of that, too.”

Peter slowly lowered his hands and looked up to see a sleek-looking suit, complete with shiny silver buttons and coattails, dangling from the birds’ beaks. He leapt off the coach, eyes widening as he stepped forward to take the suit. He ran his fingers over it in awe, shocked that two birds had managed to get such fine material.

“How did you even manage?” he asked as he clutched it to his chest, eyes sparkling.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve said at the same time Tony said, “We stole it.”

“The point is,” Tony said with a  _look_ at Steve. “It’s yours. Get dressed and we’ll explain what needs to be done.”

Peter nodded eagerly and stripped out of the scratchy wool while Steve and Tony explained the plan. He was going to go the ball and get the attention of the princess, dance with her, then finally sweep her off her feet to get them alone. After that…

“Since we can only bring things in from the fairy tale without her noticing, we had to bring you some glass shoes. Luckily for you, these aren’t some cheap Cinderella knock-offs.”

The shoes that had suddenly appeared on the floor were gorgeous; sparkling glass things with heels that had to have been four inches high. Peter reached down and picked them up, cradling them in his hands as he reached down to poke at the bottom. Besides being beautiful, they were sharp. Dangerous, even.

“Are these supposed to be a gift? For the princess?” he asked, wondering why they were so wide. Tony flapped his wings in annoyance while Steve shook his tiny blue head, hopping from foot to foot.

“You take this one,” Tony murmured out of the side of his beak to Steve. Steve hesitated, then flew onto Peter’s shoulder, beady black eyes studying Peter.

“Not exactly. You have to remember that none of this real, Peter. She’s going to make it hard for you, but trust us.”

“Trust you,” Peter repeated, unsure where this was leading.

“Kid, you gotta stab the princess. Preferably in the heart,” Tony broke in, much to Steve’s disapproval.

“S-stab her?”

“And you only got till midnight, since Charles can’t keep the shoes here long. So. Get into the ball, sweep her off her feet, stick a stiletto through her heart. Sound like a plan?”

Peter gulped audibly when he realized the birds weren’t joking. He was beginning to realize they weren’t just hallucinations, and he was now wondering if they were demons or something. Still, they’d helped him this far, so he may as well follow along with their plan. At least up until the point where he was supposed to stab the princess. They were birds, so it wasn’t like they could _make_ him stab anybody.

“Sure,” he said with a nervous laugh. The birds were clearly suspicious, but the night wasn’t getting any younger so they finally flapped aside to let him through.

“Put the shoes on when you get to the palace so that the guards won’t think you’re concealing weapons!” Steve called as Peter wrenched the door open. “Your pant legs are too long on you now, so they should hide them.”

“Yep,” Peter answered as he slid into the soft leather shoes he always wore. And then he was off, tucking the glass shoes into his coat and bolting down the familiar forest path. He leapt over tree roots, dodged branches that reached for his hair, and swerved around trees that seemed to leap out of nowhere, at some point wondering where he’d picked up the skills to sense when danger was ahead. None of that mattered as much as impressing the princess, though, and after what felt like an entire night of running through forest then field, he finally found himself near the castle gates.

The rustle of wings somewhere in the dark air made him nervous, and despite the fact that he didn’t plan on going through with what the birds had said, he took his shoes own off and hid them under a bush to slip the glass ones on. As lovely as they looked on their own, they felt decidedly terrible on his feet. They were cold and stiff, and he wobbled in them as he made his way up to the castle gate, sticking his arms out more than once to keep his footing as they sunk too deep into the dirt.

“Been in your cups a bit much tonight, eh?” one of the guards chuckled as Peter stumbled up to them. “Don’t blame ye, lad. Night like this, a little liquid courage don’t harm no one.”

“Right,” Peter said, fumbling with his jacket to open it so the other guard could run a hand over his pockets to make sure he wasn’t concealing anything. After a quick check that most definitely wouldn’t find every concealed weapon an assassin had, the guards waved him through.

He clutched the marble bannister of the castle as he mounted the steps, heart in his throat. He’d never seen such splendour in all of his life. A few more guards dressed in opulent silks nodded to him as he walked through thick cherry wood doors inlaid with jewels. The inside of the palace, a massive cathedral-ceilinged place, was even more amazing. The pillars that held the roof up were thicker than the largest man in the room, and it seemed like everything was gilded in gold. The people were also all magnificent, flaunting wealth with dresses of silk that went on for miles or suits edged with the sleekest fur he’d ever seen.

“See something you like?” a voice giggled in his ear, and Peter turned to find one of the most radiant creatures he’d ever seen peering up at him through thick red lashes. She reached up and walked a finger down his arm, batting those eyelashes as she slid against him and drew his arm to her hip. “Dance with me.”

So they danced, Peter initially desperately trying to keep up with her in his uncomfortable shoes, and then getting the hang of things and gliding along more smoothly. Men tried to break in, but the young woman kept a death grip on him the entire time and shot rather nasty glares at anyone who tried to break them apart.

“Tell me what you’d do if you were king,” the girl whispered, sultry, in his ear. As they continued their dance, he told her. He told her of how he’d try to help people in hard situations, equalizing the economy so that even peasants had a chance. He would set up relief stations for the children in need, and he’d be honest so that his people would love him. He went on in great detail, and by the end the girl was so close to his face he could’ve kissed her.

“You’re the one,” she breathed against his lips, reaching up to wrap his hair in her fingers. “You will be by husband.”

She tilted his head, pulling him down for a kiss that he knew would lead to a happy ending.

_“Hey, Petey, what was your first kiss like?”_

_“I… uh… I haven’t actually had it yet.”_

_“Excuse me? You’re telling me those lips of yours are virgin lips? Un-accept-able. Kissing isn’t an instinct, like everyone says. It’s something that comes with practise. Clearly, now that you know that, you should begin practising immediately.”_

_“Was that an offer, Wade?”_

_“Nah. It was a command. Pucker up, Princess. Let me show you how it’s done.”_

Without fully knowing what he was doing, Peter suddenly had his hand against the princess’s mouth, blocking her lips from touching his.

“Isn’t this what you want?” she asked, voice muffled by his hand. She looked hurt, and Peter felt a pang of regret. But his head had started to pound and all he could think about was how wrong this all felt. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted his entire life?

“I need some air,” he gasped out, releasing her and stepping back as she stared at him in bafflement. He turned away, quickly clacking across the floor in the heels to get the hell out of there. Now that there was a pause in the music, people were staring, trying to figure out where the clacking was coming from, and he picked up the pace.

“Peter! Wait!” the princess called.

He ignored her, breaking into a jog that sent his feet throbbing in the ridiculous shoes. He really ought to take them off, but he couldn’t be seen running from the palace clutching what looked like a weapon. What would his future look like then?

As he ran to the gates and knocked on them, he shot a worried glance up at the moon. Steve and Tony had said the shoes would be gone at midnight, and the moon looked close to reaching that. What happened at midnight? If this really was some sort of maze, like the voice had said, would he be trapped forever?

The guards opened the gate and he ran, ignoring their questions, shoes still sinking into the dirt path. He ran until he was out of sight of the palace, reaching down to take one shoe off and kicking the other off. It hit a rock and shattered, making Peter wince, but it was supposed to disappear at midnight anyway.

Drawing in a deep breath, he sat on a rock and massaged his feet, setting the glass stiletto beside him. What should he have done? Should he really have stabbed her? Whatever that flash at the palace had been, somehow it had felt more real than any of his other memories. Wade… Who was Wade? Why did Peter’s heart ache when he thought the name?

“Peter?” a voice asked, and Peter was startled out of his thoughts, rising halfway to his feet as he looked eagerly into the darkness.

“Wade?”

“No. It’s me, the princess.”

She stepped out from the shadow of a tree, almost glowing with beauty. He sunk back down, disappointed.

“How’d you find me?”

“I followed the marks your shoes left. That was an interesting choice of footwear.”

Peter blinked, glancing at the path he’d come down. There were large holes where the heels had sunk down, leading right to where he was sitting. He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. It had to have been close to midnight. He may as well just pass the time until midnight with the princess, and when whatever spell was on him wore off, he would marry her. He would be king, bring peace to the land. It would be good.

The princess daintily picked her way over to him, looking like the personification of grace. Peter stood, barely noticing that he’d grabbed onto the stiletto.

“Don’t run from me, Peter,” the princess teased as she stepped into the circle of his arms. “We’re meant to be together.”

“Are we?” Peter asked, aware of the sound of birds’ wings flapping behind him. Somehow he knew that he was out of time; if he didn’t make a decision now, it would be made for him.

“We are,” she affirmed, then tried to pull him down for the kiss to end all other kisses. “We’ll have our happily ever after.”

_“You know something, Baby Boy? There are no happy endings in real life. This world is pretty shitty, and I know for a fact that this won’t end well.”_

_Peter paused in the midst of tinkering with a new device he’d made for the suit._

_“If you feel that way, then why stay with me?”_

_Wade grinned, flipping a knife in the air. It came down to land blade-first directly in his palm and he cursed, making Peter roll his eyes._

_“Ouch. Fuck, that hurts. But you know what? I don’t regret doing it. Flipping knives makes me happy.”_

_“But the end result sucks.”_

_“The end result_ hurts _. Doesn’t mean it’s bad. It just hurts.”_

_Peter set his screwdriver down and brushed his hands off, turning to face Wade._

_“I think I get it.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Wade nodded, then wrinkled his nose thoughtfully._

_“Now, what were we talking about before I flipped the knife? You asked me a question, right?”_

_Peter laughed, pulling Wade down for a kiss._

_“You’re a dumbass.”_

“W..hy…” the princess gasped as she went limp in Peter’s arms, her blood making his hand slip from the stiletto. For a second, the worst remorse he’d ever felt in his life crashed over him, almost drowning him. What had he done? He’d stabbed a princess! All she’d wanted was to marry him and he’d just—!

But then logic got the better of him.

“I never told you my name,” he said softly, releasing her to stumble away from his arms. She had her hand over her chest and she had begun sobbing. “I’m nobody and no one knows who I am. So how did you know my name?”

Unless someone had told her and he’d just made a terrible mistake. Unless…

She stopped sobbing abruptly, wiping an annoyed hand across her face and straightening. Black chased away the red in her hair, and the stiletto fell from her chest, shattering on the ground as the wound he’d made closed.

“Tch. I should’ve picked up on that,” the princess—who had now, to Peter’s horror, turned into his stepmother, Selene—sniffed. “At least I’ll know for next time. Very well. You win this round, Parker, but you won’t be so lucky the next.”

Peter stared in shock as the moon dissolved in the sky and the scenery around him started dissipating.

“Fairy tales aren’t all this magical, as you’ll soon see,” Selene sneered. She cackled loudly, her cackle growing around him until it was all he could hear. The last thing he saw before she reached forward and shoved him was the cardinal and the bluebird, flickering into different shapes for a second. Iron Man and Captain America, looking every bit the Avengers they were.

And then…

Nothing.


	2. II. Red Hunting Hood

Peter woke up to a world that was so hushed he thought he'd lost his sense of hearing. His eyes opened and then narrowed against white as he stretched a hand out and set it on the ground in front of him to rouse himself. _Cold._ The warmth in his hand seeped away and when he lifted his palm it was wet. The rest of his body was rapidly growing damp from lying there, so he pushed himself to his knees and looked around. Snow littered the ground in a thick layer, pine trees catching the sunlight somewhere near the top of whatever forest he was in and holding it there so that down below there were too many shadows.

"Hello?" he called, but the few snowflakes drifting from above caught his voice before it could go very far. He stood when his knees started getting wet and brushed a hand over his clothes to get what snow he could off of himself. His hands had quickly went from cold to freezing without gloves, so he tucked them in his armpits as he looked around to try and orient himself. He could clearly remember a very vivid dream involving a princess who was a witch and birds who could talk. Had he really been sent into another place where he would have to fight a 'happily ever after?'

"Peter!"

The shout made him realize that standing there thinking instead of searching for a shelter before the night stole the last of the warmth from the air may not be conducive to surviving the next twelve hours. He shook his head, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, and found that there was a hood on his head. He took a better look at himself, exhaling a small cloud of white in confusion as he reached out to finger a thick crimson cloak lined with gray fur.

"Peter! Peter?"

"Here!" he shouted out, despite still trying to place the voice. He turned in a full circle with his eyes on the snow to find that there was a trail of footprints leading up to where he'd woken up. He stretched a foot out and set it alongside one of the prints. It matched. So he'd come out here himself because...

_The Wolf took little Eleanor. We need to search the forest for any signs of her._

Of course; he'd come out here to look for the little girl who'd gone missing from his home. And the Wolf... the Wolf had finally managed to infiltrate their village. It shouldn't be possible with everyone wearing the red cloaks his grandmother had created, not unless it had managed to come while someone wasn't wearing the cloak. When they were bathing, perhaps? He ran through a mental list of all he knew about the Wolf, trying to remember if there were any other clues.

'The Wolf' was what the villagers called the parasite that took over people's bodies and turned them into a man-eating beast resembling a massive gray wolf. There was just one as far as they knew, but so far it had taken down over seven villages. The parasite would enter the body of a townsperson and begin feasting on other townspeople at night. Since it was a clever trickster of a thing seemingly evolved for the sole purpose of making itself fit in, it could also revert back to human form and act completely natural when it chose. That was how it took villages down; it assumed the body of someone no one would suspect and then caused mass suspicion. All the villages had been destroyed by infighting, and the Wolf had gorged on the remains of families turned against each other. When that was finished, it moved on to a new place.

Fortunately, Peter's grandmother had survived one of its attacks as a young girl. It had become a beast and torn apart her entire family before her eyes, then started in on her. While it had ripped its claws down her face to leave massive scars, she'd tried to hit it with a bowl full of dye made from a rare red wolfsbane that grew on the outskirts of the village. The dye was the first and last thing that ever managed to wound it. Now everyone wore red hunting cloaks dyed with the stuff and tipped their weapons with it. The Wolf shouldn't have been able to enter anyone's body wearing the cloak, and even if it had then there should've been someone who had ceased wearing the cloak since red wolfsbane was like acid. No one had.

"You're a hard man to find," someone panted as they stepped out from behind one of the massive pines and hunched over to try and slow their breathing. Peter took a wary step back, searching the ground for anything he could use as a weapon. Why didn't he have his bow or knife with him?

"Who are you?" he demanded, pulling his cloak tighter around him as he looked the newcomer up and down. Decked out in black from head to toe, sandy blond hair sticking up every which way, and a quiver full of arrows slung on his back made the man in front of him quite the figure. It also made him quite suspicious, since he didn't have a single strip of red anywhere on him. People didn't just pass through Peter's village to get somewhere, and now that he had oriented himself he knew he was close to the village. No; people only ever came to the village because the village was where they were trying to get to. So any stranger whatsoever... Most of the other villagers would've shot this man on sight and doused his remains in wolfsbane.

"So it's true about your memories, huh? I'm Clint. Clint Barton. Do you remember the whole glass stiletto thing, at least?"

"You mean my dream?" Peter asked in confusion, suddenly unsure what to think. Had it really been a dream? How did a complete stranger know about it? And how had a complete stranger known his name?

"That's what it felt like? Selene is a crafty witch, but don't be fooled by all that. I think it would take too much power to make you forget every single fairy tale she puts you through, so they'll probably feel like dreams in order to trick you. Just remember that they aren't dreams and you should be fine; I've got faith in you, Peter. We just need to find out what kind of ending she's going to try to offer you this time. Shouldn't be too hard."

"I guess if you know all of that..." Peter trailed off, still troubled. There was something off about the man in front of him and it wasn't just the amount of knowledge he had that he shouldn't. His eye colour, maybe? Yes, definitely. His eyes glinted gold when he turned them a certain way, and now that Peter was paying attention he realized that the man's canines were slightly longer than usual when he smiled.

Peter started shivering, taking another step back as Clint cocked his head in confusion.

"What—"

The sound of hoof beats muffled by the snow interrupted whatever Clint had been about to say, and before Clint could get any closer a massive black stallion galloped up between Peter and him. It stopped with a loud snort, pawing aggressively at the ground as an equally intimidating woman sitting atop of it glared down at Clint.

" _Wolf,_ ” she hissed, scarred side of her face curling up in a nasty grimace as she reached up to tug the scarlet hood away from her face. “Were you just feasting on that little girl? Is that why you can’t keep those disgusting beast-like features from giving you away?”

“Beast-like?” Clint asked, startled. “What are you... You’re working with Selene, aren’t you? Peter, I don’t know what this woman put in your head but whatever it is, it isn’t true.”

Peter’s eyes flickered warily between his grandmother and Clint, everything not quite adding up.

“He knew my dreams and my name,” Peter said into the crisp air, his words turning to clouds and drifting up to the pine needles. “Unless he’s telling the truth, how would he know?”

“You told me about that dream this morning,” his grandmother answered, not taking her eyes off of Clint for a second. “Eleanor was likely listening in, as she listens in to everything.”

She didn’t bother going any further than that; the Wolf was the kind of creature who wouldn’t hesitate torturing a little girl for information it could use to turn friend against friend, family against family. Hardening his heart, Peter nodded and faced Clint down, trying to think of him as a beast rather than a human.

“This is ridiculous, Peter,” Clint sighed in exasperation. “Clearly my features aren’t beast-like.”

More hoof beats alerted them to the rest of the party hunting that had been with Peter’s grandmother, Luciana, and the men and women of the village encircled Clint in a swirl of red. Each and every one of them had their bows trained on him as they let pressure off of their horses' flanks to get the animals to stop. Clint took in the scene before him and hesitated, then lifted his hands above his head. A man and woman leapt from their horses to relieve him of his weapons, handing the bow to Peter as they tied Clint up.

"Things in here can't hurt her, but if we bring them in from outside they can," Clint said over his shoulder while Sergei tightened the ropes at his wrists. "Remember that, Peter. I trust that you'll make the right choice."

"Liar," Luciana snarled, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't let him get in your head, _dushen'ka_. Sergei and Sveta, take him back to the village where he can be burned and doused in wolfsbane. Let us put an end to this parasite once and for all."

Clint's eyes widened at that and he turned to Peter to say something, but Sveta hit him in the stomach and Sergei stuffed a cloth in his mouth while he was doubled over. No one had any interest in hearing what a master manipulator had to say, not when he could be the one who'd destroyed so many villages.

Peter tried to remain cold as Sveta and Sergei tied Clint to their horses and made him stumble along behind them so as not to fall, but Clint looked so miserable that he couldn't feel anything other than guilt.

"I can see you're struggling with this," Luciana interrupted Peter's thoughts. She reached down to offer her hand to Peter, eyes tracking Clint the entire time as if she thought he could break free and wreak havoc at any second. "There is no reason to feel guilty, though. The moment we manage to put an end to the Wolf once and for all, I plan on conceding my title to you. We'll need a new leader to guide this town through an era of peace. Someone not made for war and catching the things that howl in the night."

"You want me to be that person?" Peter asked in surprise as he took her hand and she helped him swing up onto the horse in front of her.

"Of course. I've been preparing you for this moment since you were a child; it's only natural that you take my place while I'm still around to ensure all goes well."

Luciana dug her heels into her horse's side to spur it on, galloping ahead of the line of hunters. Peter mulled over what she'd said with some trepidation, thinking that it sounded very much like a 'happily ever after.' So who was correct? His grandmother, whom his mind told him he'd known for years, or a stranger from the forest who shared the features of a wolf and was likely a liar?

"What should I do if I'm having problems making a decision as a leader?" Peter asked as the white world around them blurred from the speed. He reached up to pull his cloak over his head so the snow didn't get in his eyes.

"Think logically," Luciana said, her arms tightening around him. "Informed logic is the only way to make decisions."

_"I can't decide what's best for everyone," Peter whispered, curled with his knees against his chest on Aunt May's couch. "If I keep being Spider-Man then I can save tons of people, but I put everyone I love in danger. You, Harry, M.J., Gwen, Wade... I'm terrified of what will happen if I stay on this path."_

_He pulled the drawstrings of his hoodie tight, trying to retreat into the darkness of the hood so that he didn't have to make a real decision yet. The couch dipped beside him and he didn't need to look up to know that the warm arms that wrapped around him were Aunt May's. She laid her chin atop his head and rocked him as if he were a child, her voice a nostalgic hum when she finally spoke._

_"Sometimes there is no easy choice, Peter."_

_"So how am I supposed to decide?"_

_"Listen to your heart."_

_Peter released his drawstrings and reached up to tug the hood from his head, his hair fluffing out as he studied his Aunt May's kind, honest expression._

_"My heart?"_

_"In matters like this, the only way to make a decision you can be happy with is to trust your instincts. Somewhere in there you know what the right answer is. The answer you can live with."_

Peter blinked in surprise when he realized Luciana had already reached the village. What was that? The memory replayed itself in his head, ricocheting around in there until he felt nauseous. He stumbled to the ground as Luciana helped him from the horse, resting his hands on his knees as his stomach heaved. It took a few minutes before he was able to straighten again, the feeling fading away. It was just like last time when he'd tried to remember other things. His instincts told him there was more going on here than met the eye.

"Are you alright?" Luciana questioned briskly as she untacked her horse and began laying the steaming equipment out on the stable's wooden fence. Peter nodded, brushing a hand across his mouth to clear the saliva that had gathered there.

"I'm going to check and make sure the prisoner is secured," Peter murmured. Luciana didn't seem to be paying much attention, so he snuck away. He wanted to speak a little more with this 'Clint' guy before he made the decision to burn the guy at the stake or shoot his grandmother. Why did it have to be such extreme choices?

"Psst!"

Peter paused midstep between two small houses with thatched roofs. For a second he thought the noise had come from one of the houses, but a quick glance at the empty windows told him that most people were probably milling around the village center for the burning. He frowned and tucked his hands into the pockets of his cloak, ducking his head against softly drifting snowflakes as he began forward again.

"Petey!"

This time he whipped around, eyes raking over the heavily-trodden path leading down the middle of the village, the houses that were crammed together and looked to be leaning on each other for support, a single black dog weaving its way between the trees at the edge of the village. Was it the dog? He was about to start towards it when something inside him screamed to move and he bent over backwards to watch a snowball fly right where his head had just been. Snapping upright again, his eyes finally found where the voice had been coming from.

"Jeez, you suck at spotting things. I'm right here."

A girl stood up from where she'd been crouched near the side of one of the houses, a rich brown cloak making her blend in with the wooden siding. She threw her hood back and grinned a huge grin as she sprinted towards him, thick black curls bouncing on her shoulders.

"I missed you!" she whisper-yelled as she leapt at him and wrapped surprisingly strong arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest and inhaling deeply. Peter slowly reached down to hug her back, the nausea from before coming back as he reached down to lay a hand on her warm, familiar head. He knew her from this world, didn't he? It was Eleanor, the girl who'd gone missing. But he seemed to remember Eleanor being a very pale, quiet girl, not this loud, russet-skinned girl.

"I know you." His head felt like it was splitting in two. "Eleanor. No. Ellie."

"It's okay if you don't remember yet," Ellie said as she stepped back and slipped her hand in his. "I know you will; Dad is pretty hard to forget. Charles sent me in because he said Selene is still trying to trick you and you need help. We have to rescue Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye...?"

"Mr. Barton. Clint. Come on!"

Without giving him time to answer, she tugged his hand and the two of them ran through the town, hiding from anyone who happened to be meandering down the street. They slipped behind wood piled out in snowy yards to heat tiny houses, stables where horses pawed the ground uneasily, carts piled high with furs to trade with the next town over. All the while, Peter's cloak swirled behind him and kept getting caught up in things as if it didn't want to let him continue his course. It was disturbing to say the least.

When they finally reached the village center, they already had Clint tied to a post on a stage and were building wood up around him. He struggled against the ropes, muscles bulging as he tested their strength, and found no way to break free. Peter swallowed audibly as he fingered the bow in his free hand. Clint looked more beastly now than ever; fangs were sprouting from his mouth, his eyes sparkled red, and the grunts of annoyance coming from his mouth sounded like low growls.

"He's definitely the Wolf, Ellie," Peter muttered out of the side of his mouth to the little girl. " _Look_ at him."

"I _am_ looking and he definitely just looks like Clint," Ellie argued back, letting his hand go as she wrapped her fingers around the corner of the house they were hiding behind. "Why does everyone look so scared of him? He's got a pretty friendly face for an Avenger."

When Peter moved to step back, Ellie let out a noisy sigh and grabbed his cloak to make him stay. She let out a little yelp when she did, eyes going round as saucers when she stared at Clint.

"He... he _does_ look scary."

"Told you."

She let his cloak go to move away but then stopped with her hand midair. She tilted her head to the side in confusion and then reached out and grabbed his cloak again. Let it go. Grabbed it again. Let it go.

"So that's the spell," she gasped, sounding immensely pleased with herself. "Good thing there was an Eleanor in this story. If I hadn't been able to get in here, you would've thought Clint was the Wolf the whole time."

"What are you talking about?"

She opened her mouth to answer but was cut off a second later when Luciana mounted the stage. Peter watched, mesmerized, as his grandmother's long crimson cloak brushed along the wood. She looked so graceful up there carrying a flickering torch. Graceful and powerful, two of the many things a village leader needed to be. That was what he'd be someday if he allowed this to continue, and he found the image was much to his liking.

He was about to reveal himself when Ellie whimpered beside him. He looked down to find her almost tripping in her haste to get away, her hands over her mouth as she whipped her head from side to side in a 'no.'

"What's wrong?" he asked as she began to shake violently. Huge chocolate eyes turned on him in fear, though the fear wasn't directed towards him.

"What is that?" Tears gathered in her eyes as she turned them to Luciana, who had hefted the torch and was now delivering a speech on how the Wolf would finally stop plaguing the villages. "I've never seen a monster like that. Never."

"She looks fine to me," Peter observed in confusion, wondering how they could be seeing such different things. Despite the scar across her cheek, she looked just like any other villager.

"You have to take the cloak off," Ellie pleaded, never taking her eyes from Luciana. "That's the spell this time."

"The cloak protects us from the Wolf!" Peter hissed, wondering if Ellie was in on it too. Somehow, he couldn't find it in himself to mistrust her.

"It doesn't protect you from the Wolf. It stops you from seeing that the lady up there _is_ the Wolf. Please, Peter. You have to see so that you can end this and come home to me and Dad. We love you."

She finally turned to him, and the tears spilled over from her eyes as she searched his for any hint of recognition. He didn't know her. He did know her. It was Eleanor. It wasn't. It was the girl he and Wade had decided to raise as their own. Who was Wade?

_LISTEN!_

The voice sounded suspiciously like his own, and since the Wolf shouldn't be able to get in his head with the cloak on he decided that somewhere inside of him truly believed that these happily ever afters weren't real. Sucking in a deep breath, he reached up to his throat and undid the silver leaf clasp holding it in place. Spreading his arms, he let the red flow off him and pool into a puddle at his feet. The second he stepped away from it, he was instantly assaulted with one of the most terrible images he'd ever seen.

His grandmother's ears were deformed and longer than any ear had any right to be.

His grandmother's eyes were massive holes in her face that greedily drank in every drop of light to make it disappear.

His grandmother's hands were twisted into huge, gnarled claws that skittered along the torch like a crab.

His grandmother's mouth was a gaping darkness only broken up by teeth long as fingers as she grinned a terrible grin.

"Death to the Wolf!" she cried in a voice that was not her own. It was a garbled, hoarse voice that instantly made every muscle in Peter's body tense with fear. He fumbled to string the bow so he could shoot her, fingers trembling on the string as he fitted an arrow into the nock. He drew back, holding the bow taut as he took in deep breaths to try and steady the arrowhead.

_"Three breaths when you have time," Clint said as he stopped fiddling with Peter's positioning. "Release after you exhale the third breath completely. Your body is the most relaxed at that point so the end won't be shaking all over the place."_

_Peter nodded, drew the breaths, and then released. The arrow soared way over the target and Wade almost fell off the fence he was sitting on, that's how hard he was laughing. Peter made a face; he knew he shouldn't have brought Wade to Clint's farm to practise. Wade was too good at this stuff to remember that everyone had to start somewhere._

_"You have to teach him to aim properly first, Mr. Barton," Aunt May called as she plodded her way through the muddy field in rubber boots. She'd come out too because she said it sounded like an adventure, and she held her own bow she'd borrowed from Clint as she reached Peter. Peter stepped out of the way with a gesture to say 'go ahead,' and Wade straightened eagerly to see how it would go._

_"Betcha Aunt May is better than Peter!" Ellie giggled from her perch beside her father. Peter stuck his tongue out at her._

_Aunt May drew back with a confidence no one had expected and took three short breaths before releasing the arrow. The drawstring practically sang as the arrow flew straight and true, hitting the target dead-center. Everyone stared for a moment, then burst into applause while Aunt May chuckled and bowed a little._

_"Your Uncle Ben taught me some stuff," Aunt May explained fondly as she plucked at her bow's drawstring. "Said that knowing how to protect myself is a good thing. It looks like it's time to teach some of his techniques to you."_

_She set her bow down and gestured for Peter to get into position so she could help him._

Inhale, exhale. One. Inhale, exhale. Two. Inhale... Third breath, and then shoot on the... Exhale.

Peter let the arrow fly, pure white fletching cutting a path through the snowflakes to strike true. Ellie let out a breath of relief as the arrow sank into the center of her chest, just a smidge to the left.

"Parke _eeeeeeeer_ ," the Wolf-that-was-Luciana growled.

"You finally got the technique down!" Clint laughed, though it was a little undermined by the fact that he was sweating buckets and still eyeing the torch in the Wolf's hand. The Wolf ignored Clint with a snarl, dropping the torch into the snow where it went out with a loud hiss. The people in the red hunting cloaks suddenly dissolved, their cloaks dropping to the snow like blood, and Peter's triumph was replaced with fear as the Wolf ripped the arrow from its chest.

"You're testing my patience," it snapped as turned its head nearly in a full circle until its neck cracked loudly. Then it swivelled its head back around and clacked its teeth at him.

"Run," Ellie whispered as the Wolf climbed down from the stage, its limbs making horrifying sounds as it crunched towards him. "Run, Peter! We'll find you again! Daddy will come for you! Go!"

There was no use in trying to nock another arrow, so Peter shot one last glance at Clint and Ellie before dropping the bow. He turned and started sprinting through the snow, the sound of bones popping behind him spurring him on. His memories of this village were quickly fading, so he had no idea where to go. He just kept running straight.

"It's just Peter and the Wolf now," the thing behind him roared in laughter, sounding closer than ever. Peter pushed his legs harder than he ever had before, which was difficult in the deep snow. He cast a single glance over his shoulder to see the monster catching up. He wasn't going to make it at this rate, not that he had anywhere to make it to. He was beginning to consider trying to find a weapon to fight it, when he swivelled his head back around to find there was nothing in front of him.

"Wha—"

One second he was running in snow. The next, he was tumbling into nothingness with the Wolf hot on his heels. Closing his eyes and bringing his hands up over his head defensively, he fell. Where he was headed next, he had no idea. All he knew was that anywhere was better than where the Wolf was.


End file.
